


Cruise To The Edge

by ferowyn



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Pirk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-21
Packaged: 2018-01-04 07:18:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1078136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferowyn/pseuds/ferowyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christopher Pike is just an ordinary (if brilliant) starship captain. Except that he's not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I. Crawling

**Author's Note:**

> Yup, again.  
> Sorry that the chapters are rather short.

### Cruise To The Edge

### I. Crawling

There's lots of special people out there.

I’m not one of them, really. I’m just a normal person who had a lot of luck. Luck, as in surviving a disaster that was supposed to kill me. Luck, as in being in the right place at the right time. Luck, as in having people who were on my side.

Of course, I’m quite brilliant, too.

There are many more like me in Starfleet, though. Many more who never made captain. Many more who weren’t supported by the admiralty, who haven’t had that kind of trust put into them. I made captain within four years because the right people liked me. And, well, yes, also because my dissertation is not only outstanding, but also quite popular.

After all, I wrote about the _Kelvin_ , and George Kirk. Everybody likes to read about it anyway, even more so because it’s a first-hand report. Everybody likes being reminded that heroes still come from Earth. At least some of them.

I don’t ever read it. I try never to think about it, even. It still gives me nightmares. Well, that’s not exactly surprising, right?

Anyway.

I _did_ a good job writing it. Even without the popular topic, it would’ve been brilliant.

No, I’m not bragging.

If I weren’t _good_ , I’d never have been offered captaincy of a ship. I’d never have been sent out into space, being responsible for the lives of several hundred people. Nobody ever thinks of that when they dream about becoming a starship captain. That _your_ decisions are the matter of your crew living or dying. When everything goes well, you’re not even once reminded of that fact.

When something goes wrong, however, suddenly you’re painfully aware of every single life on your ship depending on what you impose next.

Also, you’re supposed to do quick thinking. You’re supposed to come up with an ingenious solution for whatever problem as quickly as possible. Preferably before it’s too late.

I’ve had plenty of wrong.

As crew member, as member of the senior staff, and, most of all, as captain.

Sometimes I think I’m a disaster waiting to happen. Sometimes I think it’s just bad luck. Sometimes I think it’s _good_ luck, actually, that it happened to me instead of another captain. After all I got most of my crew out of various catastrophes, alive. Sometimes I think it’s punishment.

Because all the pain and guilt and responsibility – that’s gotta be too much for one person at some point.

I’ve long been past that point.

I’m still in the game.

Maybe I’m addicted. I just can’t stop. Going out to the stars, like so many generations of humans dreamed about. It’s like a gift, a possibility. One that I certainly don’t want to throw away.

I often wonder whether this is being selfish. Whether I’m keeping some young genius who hasn’t had the same chances from getting his shot. But then I think, what if I’m better? Making the wiser decisions, and quicker? What if stepping back costs people lives I could’ve saved? And _then_ I think that I’m getting decidedly too full of myself. And that, maybe, my staying could cost lives, too. What if the others are better than me? And then I’m back to disaster waiting to happen, and guilt, and punishment.

I kind of keep reminding myself of that, actually.

Really, I’m a little masochistic. At least mentally. Also, I’m probably mental, too.

Who of those like me isn’t?

_Those like me_.

Yup, this is me, punishing myself.

Making sure that I never forget that I’m _different_.

Because that’s what they call it, don’t they? Different. Strange. _Wrong_.

I didn’t believe that it was wrong in the beginning. I used to read lots and lots of old books, and was always interested in the twentieth and twenty-first century. Back then, it wasn’t wrong, at least not in America. It was quite normal, actually, and who frowned upon it was seen as intolerant. And, well, it can’t be all that bad and morally rotten if – once – it was seen as perfectly okay, right? I don’t know what made people change their minds within ten years. If I knew, maybe I could do something about it.

Maybe it’s because of Starfleet. No. It _definitely_ is.

When I myself was still convinced it was okay I found lots of quotes and justifications that, I thought, might hold in a discussion. Well. They didn’t even hold in my own mind. I was told differently too often, with so much conviction, a hell lot more than I myself had, that those doubts that had always been there sprawled like weed.

Sometimes I wish I was living in the twenty-first century. It would’ve made my life a lot easier. Probably also a lot more boring, without proper space travel accessible for everyone who’s got the brains for Starfleet Academy.

Still.

I think I’d trade the stars for being seen as normal.

But, as it is, I’m here.

And people actually do think I’m _normal_. Which is only because I never told anyone. It’s my huge and dark and tearing-me-down secret.

Not even my family know.

I’m a very discreet person, and don’t want anyone who isn’t involved anyway (and not even those, really) to know even the slightest bit about my private life. Which is probably what has brought me here, to my position as future captain of the flagship. If anyone knew… I’d be gone from Starfleet faster than I could open my mouth to protest.

Knowing that sucks.

What also sucks is that I can’t allow myself to be in a relationship, not even if the opportunity came up. Not now, not ever. That I've never given in is probably the only reason that nobody’s found out yet. For a man in my position, as popular as me – it’s hard to keep any secret a secret. Whatever I tell _anyone_ sooner or later makes its way to the front pages. So, it’s still a secret because literally _no one_ knows. I’ve never talked about it to anybody, and I wouldn’t even spill it under torture.

I sigh, and try to forget about the unfairness of the world just for a few minutes. Until I’ve taken care of that childish bar brawl (not that I haven’t had my fair share of fights) happening in front of my every eyes at least.

I whistle – I taught myself that in order to whistle at especially pretty women, because even I recognize those, thinking that it would make hiding the whole ordeal easier – and make a show of my authority, and get rid of those silly cadets-to-be. Who are under my supervision. Awesome. There’ll be a few brilliant ones amongst them, and quite a few good ones. Most, though, won’t even make it into the second month.

I’m about to turn around and head back to my apartment, spontaneously having decided against getting drunk like initially planned, when I see _him_.

He’s all bloody, and looks worse for wear, obviously having been bashed up neatly. Also, he is in a position that looks quite uncomfortable, and is rather ridiculous. And... he’s got the most striking blue eyes.

Ranting at myself I actually make for the bar, intending to ask whether the bartender knows this boy’s name. He seems to be a local. No, I’m _not_ just thinking about trying to get this idiot to join Starfleet simply because he’s got pretty eyes.

Except that I am.

I’ve long gotten used to it, actually. I find someone I like – I admire them from a distance – I lose sight of them – I never think of them again. Well, of most, at least.

So, I think it’s okay that I’m doing this. He’ll be some farmer’s son whose family could never afford sending him to San Francisco, because it'd mean losing manpower. Also, as soon as I talk to him, I’ll see that he hasn’t got the wits, either. So, I can allow myself that little chat. It’s not as if he’ll ever turn up at Starfleet. And even if he does, we’ll probably never see each other.

My whole perfectly acceptable plan goes down the tubes when the bartender tells me the kid’s name.

James fucking _Kirk_.

Oh, sometimes I hate fate. (Not just sometimes.)

Because I know, I can’t let the boy waste away in Iowa bars. And he looks pretty wasted away already. Which is not a surprise, really, with how Winona acted when she and her baby son made it back to Earth without her husband. And I just can’t let him down, can’t let Starfleet down, because of her loss.

So now my conscience’s telling me that I _have_ to get him to accompany me to San Francisco, instead of just forgetting about him in five minutes. Awesome. Talk about U-turns.

Fucking incredible.

So, I sit down and do my job, all the time practicing my skills at looking _through_ someone instead of looking _at_ them. I do what I’m paid for, as a recruiting officer, using persuasion, and the guilt trip, and every other rule in the book. It’s just my job, really. I’ll get him to join, because I have to, because he’s Jim fucking Kirk. And once he’s joined I won’t ever really see him at the Academy, except maybe for a few courses.

It’s a pretty good plan, actually, and I’m proud of myself for how I’m sticking to it. Even emotionally.

It’s a pretty good plan until I’m told that I’m to be made his academic advisor.

Awesome.

Bloody frigging goddamn awesome.


	2. II. Standing

### Cruise To The Edge

### II. Standing

I hate not being in control.

That’s not just because of years of captaincy. It’s also because for me, being in control over my behaviour, my statements, my emotions – it’s necessary. It’s _crucial_. The stars are all I’m living for. I need them. Getting fired because somebody found out too much is just not an option. If I can’t exchange the stars for that stupid time-travelling to the twenty-first century I’ll exchange them for nothing.

Being the academic advisor of James T. Kirk has driven me beyond that point where I feel like I’ve lost all control more often than not.

I knew that getting to know him wasn’t a good idea in the first place. And, really, I was right. He looks damn good, yes, but I’m way past that. Unfortunately. Being after someone’s looks does make the knowledge that you can’t _ever_ have them easier to bear.

He’s also charming. And quick-witted. And fucking brilliant.

Not like our half-Vulcan model graduate. Not as obviously, and not in the same way. But he definitely is.

Brilliant.

Maybe, I think, I can give him the _Enterprise_ , after I’ve had her for a few years. He’s definitely captain material, and he’s probably one of those who’d do better than I would. Also, he’d be far off in space, while I’d be on Earth. Definitely a good idea.

Many years ago I swore myself not to fall in love. After my first… _infatuation_ that ended in really a lot of heartache (more like desperation and suicidal thoughts) I knew I never wanted to go through that again. And most times I actually managed. I detached myself, letting nobody get close to me. And if someone happened to come close enough despite all my best efforts… I ran.

It worked rather well. Every time.

It didn’t work on Jim Kirk.

He was like a tornado, waltzing into my life and turning everything upside down. You see, that’s what he’s good at. Bringing chaos. Stirring up my emotions, blowing my well established rules and rousing my well forgotten past.

This _infatuation_ is not about the past, though. It’s not about the _Kelvin_ , and our shared disaster-fate.

It’s about Kirk being the one person I’ve been waiting my whole life to meet.

Well, actually not. Actually I was running and hiding and panicking so much, that in the end I couldn’t possibly have avoided him. Fuck.

He’s here now, at Starfleet, _every fucking day_ , and I’m just waiting for the damn starship to be finished, so I can get the hell outa here. Because I’m already way past _infatuated_ , and nothing good can come of that. It’s something I know only too well.

However, there’s no way out of this emotional disaster.

I’ll just have to make it till he’s done, or the _Enterprise_ is done, and then I can go back to mentally beating myself up and ignoring my heart. Which sounds like a bad kitsch movie.

Really.

Sometimes my thoughts are pretty ridiculous.

Still, I do my best.

I try to avoid him as often as possible. I work so much that I don’t have time to think about anything. So much that I’m too tired to dream. I use any distraction technique I know, and I know plenty. I look forward to the day that’ll tear us apart. It’ll hurt, but it’ll also make living a lot easier.

I’m pretty good at waiting, going through with my self-inflicted suppression schedule.

Until one evening he crashes in my office, looking frighteningly similar to my memory of that night I picked him up in Iowa.

“Sorry ‘bout disturbing,” he says as way of greeting. He throws himself onto a chair before I can offer it to him. “But I need someone to talk to.”

I raise an eyebrow. “What about your friends?” I’m hardly the paradigm agony aunt, being known as distanced and rather curt. And, really, heart-felt conversations with the man I’m trying to avoid and not think about aren’t exactly what I need.

He snorts. “Bones? Nah. He’s an awesome friend, but not exactly one who just listens. Also, he’d _ask_. And I don’t want questions. I just want to talk.” He looks at me, eyes too bright, too striking. Too blue. “Could you do that for me, Sir? … Please?”

Awesome. As if I could say no to him. Especially when he stoops and says please. “Of course,” I give in, sighing, and make myself comfortable in my not exactly comfortable chair, ready for a long night. “What do you want to talk about?”

He shrugs. “Anything, really?”

“Aha. Do questions include how you got yourself a black eye, a blubber lip and a broken nose?”

Said lips are twitching now. “Well, yes. Anyway, I suppose you don’t want to know about me getting into a stupid bar brawl once again?” He’s looking at me through ridiculously long eyelashes.

Jeez.

“No, I didn’t really want to know that.” My eyebrow’s trying to make it above my hairline, but I suppose I didn’t manage to keep the amusement from my voice. “What did you say or do that someone beat you up like that?”

He squirms.

“Ah I see. One of the forbidden questions.” I decide to be nice and not press, despite the fact that I’m terribly curious. And that I _could_ make him spill. “What do you want to talk about then?”

“I don’t really know.” He’s clearly out of sorts. Jim Kirk who doesn’t know what to say? Must be a novelty, really. Whatever happened, it’s obviously still bothering him.

I shake my head. “We need to talk about your Interspecies Ethics exam anyway. I’m afraid you’ll have to retake that one.”

His relief when he concentrates on the academic matter is almost palpable. “Why?” he asks, and a little of his usual stubbornness is already rearing its head again.

“Some of your answers are not exactly well worded and can easily be misunderstood. I read through them, and I know what the Officer’s problems with them are. She’ll let you pass anyway, but if you really want to be captain and venture out, you’ll have to deal with lots of representatives of different species. Good grades on the according Ethics exams do look better. It may be the matter of you being assigned the more interesting missions, or not. Actually I think you should retake the exam orally. I do get your points, and I think you can communicate them to the Officer, too. Not on paper, though.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I suppose,” he says. Then: “Do you know anything new about my Tactical Analysis exam?” He’s relaxed, and the conversation is actually quite pleasant.

I like it.

We did never talk like this – talking for talking’s sake, not because it was necessary.

Probably I should be running, pulling up all my defences, but somehow I can’t help myself. I’m losing all my protective distance here, but it’s just too nice to give it up.

After we’re done with Academy talk we discuss the weapon systems the fleet’s ships are fitted with. Then different tactics in a certain fight situation. Then the newest findings in plasma physics. Then his friend Bones. Then Bourbon.

It’s been decades since I’ve been this open with anyone.

Yes, I really like it.

And I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop.


	3. III. Walking

### Cruise To The Edge

### III. Walking

Of course I can’t stop.

Jim Kirk is like a drug.

Whatever he gives you, suddenly receiving any less is like withdrawal.

I hate it, that he’s got me wrapped around his little finger, but I fucking _can’t stop_.

We’re actually friends now. On first name basis whenever we’re not advisor and advisee. We go for drinks together, we badmouth some of the admirals together, hell, we even tell each other stories about our lives. Like in a frigging movie.

Knowing that I’ll never get what I _really_ want hurts, but not enough to keep me from enjoying this wonderful friendship. It’s been ages since I’ve allowed myself to indulge in any emotional dependency, and now that I do it’s like rain after years of drought. It’s beautiful.

It’s also really scary.

I swore myself never to do this again – never to do friendship, and emotional dependency, and _love_ again – and yet I’m enjoying it so incredibly.

So much about self-control.

Still.

It feels good, and I’m not going to give it up.

I know lots of things about Jim Kirk by now. He hasn’t told me everything, far from it, but that’s okay. I don’t probe when he doesn’t want me to, and neither does he when I’m unwilling to talk. It works impressively well.

It feels like we’re either being two different people with each other. Like we’re having different relationships. An official one, and a personal one.

After he actually makes it through the _Kobayashi Maru_ at the third attempt I tell him that he cheated, and that cheating is wrong. That this won’t be it, that Spock won’t leave it be. Later, when we’re both out of our uniforms, wearing comfortable clothing, we both roll our eyes at the tantrum that half-Vulcan is likely to throw.

“I give him till Saturday,” I say.

Jim laughs. “The day after tomorrow,” he retorts.

I raise an eyebrow. “You’re betting on it?”

“How much?”

“Uh…” I do a quick mental calculation. “Fifteen credits?”

He grins. “I’m in.”

Of course Jim wins. Spock has organized a hearing within a day, and before lunchtime Jim is standing before the assembly, trying to argue his point. A point I can see, other than Spock. Which is _not_ because I’ve got the hots for him. It’s because I think like him. We talk the same language. Did I mention that he was the one I’d been waiting for my whole life?

Suddenly there’s a distress call coming in, and on a moment’s notice I’m informed that I have to take the barely finished flagship out. And leave Jim behind.

Let’s talk about ironic.

Isn’t this exactly what I’ve been waiting for? A chance to get out, away? Away from Jim? Now that this chance is coming in flashing and shining and goddamn cheerleading I don’t want it anymore. Because now I’ve got a _friend_. A friend I’m still planning to give my ship to when I retire. A friend who’s suspended.

Awesome.

I fly up to the starbase in a shuttle that the other six captains are taking, too. We gripe about having to take mostly cadets with us. And that we’ll be late for lunch. And that the latest law the Andorians released is pretty ridiculous. And that it’s terribly hard to find proper pilots these days.

When I step out of the shuttle my crew is already being beamed aboard my ship. I get in line, refusing to be interjected, and make for the bridge the second I materialize in the transporter room.

My senior staff is already complete, awaiting any last minute orders.

I sink into my chair, and, _damn_ , this feels good. Everything’s just like it should be. Except for Jim’s absence, of course, but I’ll get used to that. Eventually. I suppose.

Oh I should’ve stayed abstinent.

We’re at warp not much later, my new pilot having had slight initial difficulties (I can’t help but think about that conversation in the shuttle) and suddenly Jim is on my bridge, looking likes he’s been in a damn bar brawl again. And McCoy and Spock aren’t exactly making my attempts to find out what Jim’s so wound up about any easier.

But then I get it, and I feel my heart drop.

I think about _disaster waiting to happen_ and _bad luck_ and _punishment_ , and the responsibility, the knowledge that the blood of all these people will be on _my_ hands if I fail, is so terribly heavy again, I can barely bear it.

Then we’re amidst chaos and I’m occupied doing the deciding and quick thinking and coming up with ingenious solutions we captains are trained for.

And when we’re out of immediate danger – namely crashing into a piece of wreckage – I see it. The ship that brought me my first real disaster. That brought me my dissertation. That brought me my fame.

I _hate_ her.

Although it’s not the ship’s fault, I suppose.

It’s the captain’s. The captain who just prompted me to come aboard his own vessel.

Awesome.

Just awesome.

Jim is with me on the way to the shuttle, after he has tried to talk me out of going, and we get to exchange a few last official words on the plan. Also, we exchange a few last unofficial messages. _Be careful_ and _Please come back_ and _I need you_. We’re both thinking the same things, and I give him a last, barely visible smile, before I slide into the cockpit.

Not much later I’m bound to a rack, getting a damn fucking slug jammed into my mouth, thinking about _punishment_ again. Is this what I get for befriending a cadet? For letting my guards down? For falling in love with him?

Oh, I hate fate.

The frigging slug makes short work of my resistance and I’m almost glad that I’m asked about the frequencies, not my personal dark secret.

Because I would spill it now.

And that’s something I wouldn’t be able to live with.


	4. IV. Running

### Cruise To The Edge

### IV. Running

 _Of course_ Jim’s the one who saves me. Like a fucking knight in shining armour he comes riding in, unbinding me, and helping me stand, and this is entirely _too close_.

Fortunately my body’s pretty screwed at the moment. So much that even my stupid heart doesn’t do more than twitch happily. Then it’s back to keeping me alive, which seems to be quite a chore at the moment.

Jim gets me back to the _Enterprise_ and does the knight in shining armour thing again before he finally crashes in the chair next to my bed, just like he crashed in my office all those times. I’m sedated and bound to the biobed, basically unable to move. I’m high on painkillers, too. And anti-toxins. And slug. And anyway, having to wait for a surgical staff of six to be ready to operate sucks. Of course I get it that they look after the others first, now that I’m out of life-threatening, and well into bored.

It still sucks.

Jim lets his head fall against the edge of the biobed.

I raise an eyebrow. (I’ve been doing that a lot, whenever we're having private conversations.)

He looks around. “Are we alone?”

“Yes, the doctors and nurses are all well occupied. And when they come in to check on me they knock. Even McCoy. One of the perks of being captain,” I joke. My voice sounds strange. Like it doesn’t belong to my body. Stupid toxins.

Jim smiles wryly. “God, I’m relieved you’re alive!” he then breathes, leaning back in his chair. “I really didn’t think I’d have the chance to get you out of there."

“Me neither,” I answer honestly. Silence is okay, but we don’t do lying.

He nods, clearly distracted.

“You should go back,” I say. “Look after your ship. Your crew.”

Now he shakes his head. “I can’t,” he admits. “It’s too much. We’re safe for now, and we’ve contacted the ‘fleet, and the _Columbia_ is coming to pick up the crew, while the _Entente_ is on her way to tow us back. Alone we won’t get far, not without our warp core. So, the most important tasks I've taken care of. The second I was done with protocol and trying to look after everyone, I gave over to Spock. He got a little rest before – I made him get some – and I’m drained now. I need a break. Besides, she’s _your_ ship.”

“No.” My smile is sad. “She’s yours.”

It’s his time to raise his eyebrows.

I try to shrug my shoulders, helplessly. Not a good idea. My body feels like being torn into pieces, which are now floating around stupidly. Not overly painful, but decidedly uncomfortable. “Look at me,” I whisper, averting my eyes. The ceiling of sickbay really is pretty. Also, it’s got a nasty crack. “I’ll be lucky if I ever walk again. Captain – that’s out of the question.”

He looks shaken. “But… you’re _Christopher Pike_! You can’t just give up! You were _born_ to be captain!”

“So were you.” I’m looking at him again, and both of us know that this is not an allusion to his birth while his own father died, being captain for only minutes. “Besides, how do you imagine me going about my duties? In a wheelchair?”

He’s back to shaking his head. “But…” he stops, looks away.

I don’t dare to ask. It’d be against our rules.

He smiles a shaky smile, and answers anyway. “It’s like a dream, ending in smoke,” he admits. “I always thought that, one day, I’d be your first officer. Well. I suppose I should stop building castles in the air. I’m too old for that anyway.”

“Wouldn’t you rather be building starships? I mean, castles are nice and all, but quite useless, aren’t they?”

Jim actually laughs at that. Mission accomplished.

Suddenly he’s back to serious. “I was pretty scared,” he confesses. “That I wouldn’t make it. That my crew could die. But most of all, that I’d never see you again.”

“I’m always scared, too,” I admit, thinking that he might need a little reassurance, from captain to captain.

“About never seeing me again?” he asks, half joking, half serious. His eyes are dark and his pupils huge. It’s like _he_ ’s the one on drugs.

I actually flinch. “I would’ve been,” I finally say. “Had I been in that position.”

He gulps. “Chris,” he begins, slowly. Uncertain. “I… you remember that night? When I came to talk to you, after another one of those stupid bar brawls?”

“Of course.” How could I forget?

“I… never told you what it was all about.”

“No, you didn’t,” I say softly. Oh dear. It’s still bothering him. What kind of agony aunt am I?

Suddenly he’s staring at me, his eyes boring into mine. “You don’t want to know,” he warns. “Maybe you’ll even hate me.”

“I doubt that.” I’m sincere. There are very few things Jim Kirk could say that would scare me away.

“Do… you really want me to tell you?”

“Yes,” I admit. “Also… you obviously want to tell someone. That’s reason enough.”

He smiles at that, if just for a second. “There was a… _gay_ ,” he seems to be stumbling over the word. I choke. “in that bar, that night. They… some Starfleet folk… were… bashing him up. I… I just… I couldn’t watch it happen. I barged in. They thought I was a _fag_ , too, and let me feel it.” Hearing those words from his mouth hurts.  
He’s staring at me. “… Do you hate me now?” he hesitantly asks.

“Why would I?” I smile. And then… “Are you?” I need to know. Well. I _do_ know. Just that he helped one of my kind doesn’t mean he suddenly changed his sexual orientation. So, I need to _hear_ it, in order to be able to believe it and let go of those stupid hopes.

“Am I what?”

“A _fag_?” I stress it the way he did.

He looks away.

Suddenly I feel pretty awful. “Sorry for asking,” I blurt out. I just broke the no-probing-rule pretty shamelessly.

Jim laughs hollowly. “It’s okay,” he says. “I bet you do regret it.”

“Regret what?”

“… Asking?”

“Well, yes, of course!” His shoulders are sagging. I’m confused. “We said we’d never probe.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“That it wasn’t really my place to ask?”

“Not about the fact that you really didn’t want to know?”

“...Know what?”

“The answer to that question.”

“Well, you didn’t exactly answer it.”

He is opening his mouth for a few times before he manages to say something again. I’m still confused. “I… I looked away! That’s as much as an answer!” he blunders out, and suddenly I begin to understand.

I’ll blame it on the drugs.

“Not for me,” I say softly. “I need to hear it. Because if you don’t say it… I won’t be able to believe it.”

There. I just laid everything open. Let’s just hope that he catches on quicker than I did. And that I didn’t mistake his implication. And that he won’t spill my secret. And that he likes me back. And that-

Jim, who was just staring at me, interrupts my thoughts with bursting out laughing.

For a second I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.

Then I realize that there’s a beaming smile on his lips, and he’s leaning down, his lips next to my ear. “I still don’t want to say this out loud,” he admits. “Who knows who might be listening. But… just for you… I’m gay.” He only whispers the last part.

“But… all those women…?” I whisper back.

He grimaces. “That was me trying to convince everyone, including myself, that I like girls.”

I’m smiling, too, now. “I’m also gay,” I say, voice still hushed.

Jim grins. “You have no idea how glad I am. Losing you, in whatever way, is something I just couldn’t stand.” His voice is painfully honest and he’s staring straight at me.  
I stare back.

“I promised myself,” I finally say. “No relationships. Not even when I have an opportunity like this.” His shoulders sag yet again. “But…” I grin wryly. “You’ve made me reconsider many of my rules. In fact, you simply blew most of them, not even giving me the chance to reconsider.”

He smiles tentatively. “So… are you saying that…”

“I feel a lot more for you than friendship? Yes.” I’m back to whispering. “I want to try and make this work? Double yes. I think we _can_ make this work? Not sure. Still want to try. However…”

“We gotta be careful,” he finishes. “Make sure we let nothing slip. Our careers depend on it.”

I smile. He knows everything I know. He feels the same way I feel. He is as willing to make sacrifices as I am.

This is the best I’ve felt since realizing I’m gay.

It’s also the most scared.


	5. V. Flying

### Cruise To The Edge

### V. Flying

It takes us more than a month to work up the courage to kiss.

We’re quite happy with talking, actually, and holding hands whenever there are no nurses or doctors near, and knowing that we’re not alone any more. He spends hours at my sickbed, whenever he doesn’t have to go about his captainly duties, and now there’s nothing we don’t talk about. Well, except for the future maybe. But that’s okay. It’ll come anyway.

We do all the stupid newly enamoured romantically staring at each other, and smiling whenever we think about the other, and waiting impatiently to see the other again; even if a little (more like a lot) less noticeably than other couples.

Actually we’re being as discreet as can be.

It’s not exactly easy.

And totally worth it.

My dark and terrible secret suddenly isn’t that terrible anymore. Or that dark. Or that secret, actually. Not any longer, now that he knows.

However, I trust him. With my life. So it’s okay that he knows, really. After all I know about him, too.

Loving Jim is as easy as it gets. It’s also as difficult.

While I’m never as happy as when I’m with him (and as unhappy as I’m without him) I’m having doubts and second thoughts every other moment. Of course, this is what I’ve been wishing for, what I’ve been dreaming of – it’s almost too perfect to be true. However, I’ve been told that loving men is _wrong_ , and that this preference makes me repulsive. After some time you can’t help but believe it. I can’t help but wonder if it is right what we’re doing, no matter how good it feels.

Jim’s okay with me doubting.

He’s having those same doubts, too.

We spend a lot of time talking about that kind of stuff. About what we want to do, what we can do. What we mustn’t do. What is okay to be done in public, and what isn’t. What others can know. What we have to hide.

We never write messages about it, or talk via the communicator. We never act in any way even slightly unprofessional in any place that’s got security cameras.

We only ever relax at my place, really.

Safety staff sees him come and go frequently, but they think nothing by it. He’s just a friend. He’s the person who saved my life. He’s a fellow captain, and the one who’ll get my ship in a few weeks’ time. Why would he be anything or anyone else?

By now I’m out of hospital, but not out of the wheelchair.

It’s okay, though.

Jim can live with it, and so can I. As long it’s okay with him I’m ready to adjust. He’ll be gone soon anyway, when the repairs of the _Enterprise_ are done, and then I’ll have more than enough time to stubbornly make myself undergo whatever therapy necessary to be able to walk again. Maybe I’ll even surprise him when he comes back from his first mission as full captain of the _Enterprise_.

He spends as much time as possible at my apartment. We don’t see each other often during the day, with him taking the exams still necessary so that he can officially be made captain, and me jumping headfirst into the work the chair has given me to do. I’m not a man for desk jobs, but I’m an admiral now, and that’s really more than I could’ve hoped for, after the disaster with the slug.

Usually when he’s at my place and it’s not already deep into the night he’s got to study, but that’s fine with me. I like to think that I’m doing a good job testing him.

It’s pretty incredibly perfect, actually.

He spends every night possible with me, and finally waking up next to someone feels damn good. Of course, it also takes a little time getting used to. Especially since I’ve got a lot of adjusting going on at the moment, with the long term effects of that damn Centaurian slug toxin.

Well. Jim’s worth all of that. Twice, actually, and much more.

Then he has to leave for his first mission, the day after getting his medal and relieving me, going out to explore new worlds and everything – just what I’d wanted to do, as captain of the flagship. But that’s okay, because it’s him who’s got her now. I want nothing but the best for him. And she is the best. Also, it kinda feels like I’ve given her to him. Like he owes it to me that he’s got her now.

Letting him go is so much harder than I’d told myself it’d be.

I’m being rather pathetic, actually, and I even go to see him off, smiling a proud smile from my stupid chair.

Just like I should be.

An advisor seeing his advisee go out into the black, all grown up. Nobody sees what this really means to me, how happy and how sad it is making me at the same time.

The first night I don’t sleep at all.

Like, not a second.

When I get up at half five, like I usually do (not that I have to, an admiral doesn’t have _that_ much work waiting to be done) I know that I’ve got to change something.

The first thing I do is contact the doctor stationed on Earth who’s responsible for me. The next one in Pike-curing-rank after McCoy. He recommends a physiotherapist, and I immediately set up an excruciating schedule. I’m back to the work-so-much-that-I-can’t-help-but-sleep solution.

I’ve got one day to mentally prepare myself for pain and desperation and hopelessness, they tell me. Because that’s what it’ll feel like.

Well.

That’s fine by me.

… Or so I thought.

The warning was a fair one, as I soon have to admit.

My first session is the most bearable one, actually, because then I still think that I’ll be doing better in no time. That illusion is quickly shattered. Actually it doesn’t feel like it’s getting _any_ better at all. Now I know what they meant with depressing.

Thinking about Jim and how I want to surprise him keeps me going, though.

And finally I get a message that the _Enterprise_ is heading back for Earth in order to check in with the admiralty, and give the crew some shore leave. They’ve done two exploratory missions and a diplomatic one in the last few months, and everyone is looking forward to seeing their family.

I’m told three days in advance, which gives me enough time to prepare some things. First of all, I cancel my sessions for the time of Jim’s stay. Then I find out how long different important Starfleet people will need him, and make an according dinner reservation at that comfy Japanese place he likes so much, which is just around the corner. I know that he’ll be way too tired to do anything when he’s finally released. I also know that he’ll be way too wired to sleep. So, dinner. It’s a good compromise.

When the day comes (I’ve been counting the hours, I think, and definitely haven’t slept enough) I don’t go to pick him up, but wait for him to turn up at my apartment.

I’m a little scared, actually, that he’s changed his mind and won’t be coming.

Then the doorbell’s chiming, though – later than I’d hoped, but earlier than I’d feared. I know post-mission-sessions with the admiralty only too well. It’s a good thing that I’m not involved with those, I think.

And suddenly Jim comes rushing back into my life like he always does: bringing chaos upon my neat apartment.

I like it.

A huge grin lightens up his exhausted face when he sees me, and he barely gives me enough time to close the door before he drops his bag and throws his arms around my shoulders, hiding his face in my shoulder.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, a little breathless.

Which might be because my hug is pretty tight.

He raises his head then, staring at me with those too-blue eyes of his. I want to kiss him, but I’m feeling almost shy, not really daring to. He takes the matter into his hands and kisses me like there’s no tomorrow.

I haven’t felt so good in months.

Only after we part does he realize that I’m not in my chair. “You’re standing,” he remarks, voice caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. “I should’ve expected it, I supposed.”

Yes, he should.

After we have kissed again (and again and again) I make him change into comfortable clothes and take him to the restaurant. He whines that he’d rather sleep, but I know better.

When we arrive at the place I’m pretty exhausted, although it’s only been a few hundred metres, and Jim’s immediately changed into mother hen mode. He makes me sit down at our booked table, going to hang my jacket up along with his. When he returns the menu’s waiting, and I’ve already ordered drinks for both of us. He slowly begins to relax then, and we enjoy our usual banter of who’s going to order what.

In the end we take the same dishes we always do – a big serving of yakitori for him, and sweet-sour duck for me.

The informal dinner calms him down, and both of us indulge in finally spending time with each other again.

It’s perfect.

We’re the last customers to leave the restaurant, making for my apartment and falling asleep almost immediately. I snuggle up against him, sleeping better than I’ve slept in all the time he’s been off and about in space.

Letting him leave again after barely two weeks of bliss is even harder than it was the first time.

I go straight back to letting myself be tortured, and hoping for any information on what the _Enterprise_ and her crew are currently up to.

After a few months I get news.

Not only the ones I’d been hoping for, though:

Jim will be back within three days.

And I’ve been found out.


	6. VI. Falling

### Cruise To The Edge

### VI. Falling

I don’t make a dinner reservation this time.

When he finally comes to my apartment it’s way past midnight, and I’ve been spending hours pacing. My legs and back hurt like hell, but I’m too wound up to sit down, or even sleep.

I need to talk to him about this.

Immediately.

He realizes that something’s wrong the second he sees me. Still he takes the time to put his stuff away and hug me before he asks. (We’ve decided to spare the no-questions-rule. It doesn’t really work in a relationship.)

I look at him, and his simple presence makes me calm down a little.

Then I drop the bombshell.

“They know.”

His eyes widen, and obviously he’s understood what I’m talking about, despite the fact that he asks: “Who knows what?”

“Komack found out about me… being gay. I’m resigning as soon as you leave again.”

He sits down heavily. “But… are you sure?”

“Yes.” I nod, everything about me being serious. “I… I really did try to read his message any way differently, but it’s just not possible. Also, he won’t tell anyone, but he _sent a message_. Which means that at least Starfleet Intelligence know. And since it’s not exactly highly secret information everyone will have heard soon.”

“You’re just going to give up? Won’t there be a hearing?”

“Well, yes, probabl-”

“I’m going to plead for you!” he interrupts me, voice high-pitched. He jumps up again. “I’m not going to leave you alone, not with this, not with anything!”

“Don’t,” I try to calm him down. “You can’t plead for gay rights. That’ll cost you your post, too!”

“I don’t care,” he says heatedly. Convinced. I kinda feel warm and fuzzy that someone’s standing up for me like that. Offering to throw everything away just for _me_.

“Yes,” I say for that reason. “Yes. You do care. Imagine giving it all up. The _Enterprise_ , your crew, the stars… you’d be miserable, and I definitely don’t want that. I can’t be responsible for that.”

“I’d be miserable without you, too!” he argues, staring at me with those oh-so-blue eyes of his. I want to drown in them, and never come back up for air. It’d be a nice place, really. _Any_ place with Jim would be a good place.

I take that one step that separates us, letting the cane I still need (and should’ve used when I was pacing) fall to the floor. Immediately his arms are on my shoulders, trying to support me.

I don’t even mind it.

“You won’t be without me,” I say. “Just because I’m out of Starfleet… doesn’t mean I won’t be waiting for you somewhere else. Not much will change, really. Except that meeting will be easier, and less dangerous.”

He snorts. “Less dangerous! What we were afraid about already happened!”

I try to smile, which probably looks rather pathetic. “No. What _I_ was afraid about happened. They know about me, Jim. Not about you. Not about us. You – you’ve still got something to lose. And I won’t just sacrifice that. I know how much the _Enterprise_ means to you. I’m not going to let you give her up, give _everything_ up because I was busted. You’re going to return to your ship, and do what you studied yourself through the Academy for, and I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Like a damn house wife,” he mutters and sits down again, this time pulling me with him so that I end up on his lap.

The next smile is not exactly convincing either. “Yes. Like a damn house wife. But that’s okay. I’ve had my fair share of stars and faraway worlds and glory. It’s your turn now. Also, if I resign and avoid the hearing – at least it won’t be all over the papers. If Intel keeps quiet maybe only the admiralty will know.”

He’s silent after that.

We sit in that chair for a long time, both of us dwelling on our own thoughts. Which are probably the same ones anyway.

I can’t help but ask myself: Can I really do it? Can I really leave and go to play house wife?

The answer is as simple as it’s painful.

Yes, I can.

For Jim.

“Where will you go?” he finally asks.

I sigh. “Mojave, probably. For the time being at least. I’ll let you know.”

We’re quiet again after that.

It’s well past sunrise when we make it to bed.

This time Jim’s only got six days of shore leave, so I push that matter to the back of my mind and make the best of his stay. I’ll have to deal with it anyway the second he’s gone.

We enjoy each other’s company just like the last time, and having to let him go is worse than ever.

I hand my resignation in within an hour of his departure.

It’s hard.

Harder than it sounds.

This is my life I’m just quitting.

Still, I know that I’ve got no choice.

I decide to finish my sessions before I move, but already begin to look for houses in Mojave, as well as potential buyers for my apartment. It won’t be hard to find the latter, this is a good place in a perfect spot. Pretty expensive, too.

I’m almost done planning when my doorbell chimes.

It’s 23 hours after Jim has left.

I couldn’t have been more surprised than I am when I find Admiral Komack standing in front of me. Fuck.

“Can I come in?” he asks.

I greet him and step to aside. Offer him a seat, ask him what he wants to drink. All the while I’m terribly confused. And nervous. And close to panicking, actually.

His smile is sad when he interrupts my recital of the drinks I can offer. “Chris,” he says. “Please sit down. You make me go crazy.”

I do as I’m told. Then-

“This – your resignation that is – is not what I wanted when I sent you that message. I just wanted to let you know that I found out, so that you’d be more careful again. I wasn’t ever planning on telling anyone. I just wanted to warn you,” he offers, wringing his hands.

I’m out of words.

“Can I… make you revoke your… retirement?”

I still don’t know what to say.

He’s sweating now. “There won’t be any hearing or anything, really, I promise. I… I’m not like most people, Chris. I like women, but I also like men,” he admits. ”It’s easy for me to be happy with a wife, and to hide the fact that I’m not averse to same-sex relationships. It’s not that easy for you.” He closes his eyes for a moment. “So. I told you, and I trust that you won’t spread it. A secret for a secret. Now… can we talk?”

“Of-” I clear my throat. “Of course, … James.”

And talk we do.

For hours, actually.

When we depart we’re both happy with the agreements we’ve made. He’s assured me that Intel won’t spill a thing, and that my secrets safe with him, too. I won’t return to Starfleet, at least not as an admiral. I kinda hated it. We agreed that, instead, I’d teach more of the Academy classes. That he’ll let me know whatever he’s told about the _Enterprise_ , and in turn I’ll help him with whatever he might need ex-captains-who-aren’t-admirals for. Which is a lot of things, really. Starfleet regulations are bitches, but not that hard to elude if you know how.

I almost cry with relief.

Also, my opinion of James has done a U-turn. For the better.

So has my life.

Frankly, not being an admiral is awesome. I’ve got enough time for my therapy sessions after classes, and I get to knock my not exactly plain vanilla views into lots of students’ heads. I love it.

Also, someone else gets to scream at Jim whenever he steps over regulations like over a chewing gum on the sidewalk. Which happens quite often, actually. (Both of it.) I appreciate it, more than I’d ever day say aloud. He’s gotten rebuked and reprimanded more than any other captain (he’s also saved more lives than any other captain,) the latest time being after the Nibiru incident. That the person chosen to give him a slap on the wrist isn’t me is for the better, really. I wouldn’t have wanted to argue with him. Not that I’d been able to do it convincingly, I feel with him far too much. As I said, we think alike.

Fortunately I’m no longer the admiral who knows him best, the person who always gets jobs like that.

Instead I get to tattle with him afterwards, and we enjoy being together again.

He’s ridiculously relieved that I stayed with Starfleet, and in my apartment. He likes it, he says.

So, we spend most of the evening savouring its perks. I really like it, too. Especially after that evening.

Suddenly, without any warning, he’s called in to a meeting, and has to leave me behind. One of the negative sides of giving up the admiral badges is that I’m no longer well informed, but, really, apart from moments like those I don’t regret it.

Also, I’m one of the first to get the news.

Fortunately Komack’s not among those who don’t make it out of the meeting alive, for he’s the one who tells me about it. He also tells me that Marcus sent Jim off in order to find Khan. On Q'onoS. And that he’s made him leave without giving him the chance to say goodbye to me.

I have to suppress the strong need to _strangle_ Marcus. With my bare hands.

Well. I suppose that I’ll see Jim again at Khan’s trial. I just hope he makes it out of Klingon territory without too many injuries. Knowing him, he’ll bring at least some.

I hate waiting.

It’s basically not being in control.

Which I hate even more.

I teach a few classes, write a report, go to therapy, try to occupy myself with reading some of my twenty-first century literature. I go to have a chat with James. I return to my apartment, which is decidedly too empty. Jim _should_ be here. He shouldn’t be off on a non-permitted mission. Because that’s what it is.

His stuff is still here, too.

I’m lying in my bed, but not exactly asleep, when I receive James’ message.

It’s the same message he’s received the moment the ship had her power back, along with a personal note.

_Enterprise: J. T. Kirk, Captain, reported as dead; confirmed by L. McCoy, CMO. Cause of death: radiation._

The official part stops there, and admiral Komack’s personal message begins:

_Apparently he climbed into the warp core and realigned it. Otherwise they’d never have made it, and would’ve crushed into SF. He saved hundreds of lives. He got to exchange a few last words with Spock. I’m really sorry, Chris. If you need something, just say so._

Apparently he knows more than he’s let on, I think. My brain feels like all my neurons are covered in cotton wool, blocking all those spikes and trans-synaptic signals. I don’t really understand what I’ve read. Well. Jim’s dead. I’ve understood that. However, I don’t really get what it means for me. Absentmindedly I think that I should be sad. Why?

I imagine what Spock must’ve felt like. Losing a person you were close to is never easy. That also counts for captains and their first officers. Getting the chance to exchange some last words… is a blessing and a curse at the same time. Been there, done that.

Tiredly I try to push the memory away.

Then, suddenly, reality comes rushing in, entraining me like a powerful stream.

A river of desperation.

I break down when I finally realize what this means.

Jim’s gone.

What am I supposed to do without him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that's it.
> 
> Thanks for staying with me, guys!


End file.
